


Hands on strings and mouth open

by thatfire



Series: when you turn the lights out [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Subdrop, Subspace, Top Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatfire/pseuds/thatfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can see Derek's profile, the careful concentration of his eyebrows and the curl of the corner of his lip and he very suddenly wants to be good, to make Derek happy, make him proud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands on strings and mouth open

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on and off with this fic since [**goosebumps pebble**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/593125) and i hate that it's taken so long to finish, but between life and college and lack of motivation it did :')  
>  I tried to do a fair amount of research into subdrop/subspace/dom&sub before writing this, and tried to make it as realistic as i could, and hopefully it worked out :3  
> Massive thank you to Becca for beta reading it for me and motivating me to finish it :3

It gets worse.

Or, it gets better, Stiles isn't sure, but it gets _more._ The need for something else, for something stronger and harsher grows everyday, until he can't take it.

He _knows_ , he should have spoken to Derek about it before, that they should have sorted out some kind of schedule or something, some kind of message, so that when Stiles gets like this, they can do something about it, so they can really enjoy it completely and freely, instead of it being driven by almost complete need.

Not to say that it's not _safe_ , (because it always is)- or that he, or _Derek_ , for that matter don't want it, that they don't enjoy it, because they do, and Stiles has asked repeatedly, that Derek does enjoy it, that he's not doing it purely for Stiles.

But Stiles knows that this isn't good, that something is probably going to go wrong before they've even started.

He just can't _stop_ it.

 

-

 

When Derek walks into the bedroom, Stiles can see from where he's kneeling naked at the end of the bed, that there's a blindfold and a pair of silk ties curled in his palm, feels the shiver of _need_ thrum through his spine. He swallows and licks his lips twice, stares a little longer before lowering his eyes to his knees again, waits for the tell-tale sound of footsteps and for Derek to kneel in front of him, or to tell him what to do.

 

Derek crouches, rubs his free hand through the grown out hair along Stiles' fringe, "Well done." he says, voice loud but calming in the quiet of the room, "You've got your safe words?"

Stiles nods, body swaying towards Derek before a hand on his shoulder soothes him.

"Stiles?" He sounds, careful, almost worried, and Stiles knows what he wants, forces his tongue from the top of his mouth, and tries to ignore how wrecked he sounds already when he speaks,

"Pink for go, orange for slow down, red for stop."

He can hear Derek's relieved breath, and the catch of denim when he stands up.

"Good. Up on the bed, on your back." He waits for Stiles to do as he's told, before stepping forward and onto the bed behind him.

"Arms above your head." He waits again, hands shifting together, "I'm going to tie your wrists first okay? And when you're ready, I'll blindfold you."

Stiles nods, shifts until he's comfortable and follows Derek's hands as he ties his wrists to the headboard, making sure the fabric doesn't rub raw before moving to the second.

 

He can see Derek's profile, the careful concentration of his eyebrows and the curl of the corner of his lip and he very suddenly wants to be good, to make Derek happy, make him _proud_ and his mind already slightly foggy around the edges that it takes him a while to realise Derek's spoken.

"Stiles? Are you okay? We don't have to do this, not if you don't want to." and Derek's staring at him, concern written across his faces and hands already reaching to untie his wrists.

"No! I mean- please, I want this, please." He bites his lip. "Pink."

Derek doesn't move for what feels like minutes, but when he does he nods and reaches to the side, curls his fingers around the blindfold and shows it to Stiles before motioning for him to lift his head up, curling the fabric around the back of his head and laying a kiss to his brow.

 

Stiles blinks behind the cool fabric across his eyes. He can feel his lashes catching, but can't see anything but darkness, a fuzz of light maybe.

There's a low buzz in his head now, his limbs feeling heavy and throat tight and dry, his skin too tight for his body and Derek hasn't even really started yet.

 

The bed dips at his side and Stiles tries to follow the sounds with his head, tries to figure out where Derek is, his heart pounding quick in his chest, before he feels warm hands on his arms and lips on his chest.

Stiles' body slumps in to the mattress, his skin still too tight, but less so, Derek's touch grounding him and the small whispered words across his skin in-between nips and kisses making him whine low in the back of his throat, hands curling in the ties of his wrists as Derek moves down his body, stopping at his belly button before moving to the thin pale skin of his hips.

 

It's enough for a while, but he soon becomes impatient, frustrated and strung high, too hot and itching with every brush against his cock, hard and leaking onto his stomach.

"Derek, _Derek_."

"I've got you, it's okay. You're doing so well." Derek's voice is hoarse, like he's stripped raw from just this, from making Stiles slowly fall apart with small touches, and cups his hands behind Stiles' thighs and _pushes_ with just enough pressure for Stiles to gasp

Derek moves him until his legs are pushed against his chest, a burn already building, but this is better, this is what Stiles wants, something more, something that he can really _feel_.

 

He's already wet, stretched open from his own fingers before they started and clenching on nothing, feels cool air on his hole, and he knows Derek is staring, can't help the hitch in his breathing or the way his cock jolts.

 

The hands on his thighs leave, his whole body rocking as they shift and there's a rustle of fabric and cap of a bottle being opened, the sound of slick liquid before they're back, gripping and pushing, and Stiles knows there's going to be crescent shaped bruises later, but he finds he wants it, _needs_ it.

 

"You don't even need me to prep you," Derek says, _raw_ and gravel. "You want it so bad don't you? So good, are you going to be good Stiles?"

 

_Good_.

Stiles shivers and makes a noise which he hopes sounds positive, thrusts his hips back anyway and clenches his fingers around nothing.

 

There's a moment of still, when all he can hear is their breathing, before Derek pushes forward, the head of his cock catching and dragging on the rim of Stiles' hole, before pushing all the way in and Stiles groans, long and low from somewhere in his chest, cherishes the burn in his thighs and inside, the small chocked off noises Derek makes.

 

He can feel Derek trying to hold back, trying to take this slow and drag it out, but it isn't what Stiles wants, what either of them wants, tries to push back and clenches around Derek.

"Derek, please, _harder_."

 

The hands on his thighs falter, and Derek's hips jolt a few times before evening out, speeding up a little on each pull and drag and Stiles clenches, body going taut and arms stretching, his body tingling and hyperaware when Derek catches his prostate.

It doesn't take long for Derek to falter, for his hands to fall from Stiles' thighs, dropping to the bed besides his shoulders, back hunching forwards until he can move faster, the sound of sweat sticky skin slapping, Stiles' broken of whines catching and drying in his throat.

 

Stiles can feel his lashes sticking and wet, his throat almost hoarse, and his back and shoulders burning, but this is what he's needed, hard and slightly rough and for the little groans that Derek's makes, knows that Derek's wanted it too, even though he's been so careful, sometimes holding back, and somewhere in his head he knows he wants to make Derek happy the most, to curl his fingers into the hair at his nape and hold on tight with shaking fingers until they were both sated and calm.

 

There's a moment when Stiles forgets that his hands are tied, when he tries to reach for Derek and grip his neck, tug him down until he's lying across him, panics and jolts, and he wonders what he's done wrong, what he can do to make this better, and his fingers grasp and twist at empty air, but he doesn't say the safe word, because he feels good, so good, but he wants to touch, his mind fogged over and distant.

 

" _Derek_." He manages to slur out, and Derek must hear something in his voice, because he bends down until he's folded over, hips slowing a little.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, want you- want, want."

"You've got me, it's okay. You're so good, so beautiful," Derek twists until he can rub a hand up Stiles' arm, rub soothing circles onto the skin. "I'm so lucky, _god_."

"Want- want you to come." Stiles manages, buries his head in the crook of Derek's arm, snuffles and pants until the skin is damp, and he's close, so close, just needs Derek a little closer, for Derek to come.

He can hear Derek curse, feels him speed up again, and his cock hitting his prostate, stomach rubbing across his cock before there's a hand on his chin, and lips on his, not kissing, but breathing into his mouth, tongue rubbing across his lip and biting lightly at the corners and Stiles is _wrecked_ , pushed over the edge and he knows he's coming, but it feels almost phantom, like he's disconnected from his body and strung tight, and it's not until Derek stills, feels him come apart above him that Stiles actually feels sated.

 

Derek is a warm heavy weight above him, breath hot against his cheek, and sweat slick sticky, and Stiles' arms ache, but to the point of more pleasure than anything else, and he knows the blindfold is wet from tears, but it's _good_.

 

(it doesn't hit Stiles that his mind is still fogged, his limbs heavy and sloppy.)

 

\---

 

Derek is slow and careful when he finally moves, rubs little circles into Stiles' wrists and makes soothing noises low in his throat, cleans them up, unties him, and makes sure they're always touching.

Stiles doesn't say anything, stares through blurry eyes, limp limbed and head heavy. He can feel that something's wrong, but he can't figure out what, mind sluggish and it's not until Derek moves his arm that he realises he's shaking, fingers quivering and body starting to ache.

 

A half hitched sob passes his lips, and Derek turns around from where he'd been putting the dirty wash cloths away, Stiles can see his eyes wide and worried, feels the bed dip again as Derek sits at his hip.

"Stiles." He says, voice wavering slightly. "Shh, it's okay."

Stiles can feel Derek running the tips of his fingers through Stiles' hair making low soothing noises, as he coaxes him to sit up.

 

It's the first time it's happened, _subdrop_. Stiles has always been a sleepy-happy mess of contentment after one of their scenes, has only wanted to be held and cleaned up, before drifting off to a sated sleep, and in the morning's he'd be fine, his normal self, but sometimes calmer, never this, and although they _have_ read about this, know what they're meant to do, Stiles can tell that Derek's still terrified of messing it up, of making this worse for Stiles,

(and Stiles is terrified too, doesn't feel right in his own body, his head weird and aching and twitching)

 

When Stiles is sat up fully, Derek moves him carefully until he's resting against his chest, a cold cup pressed against his lips, coaxed until he opens his mouth and drinks 'til he can't keep anymore down.

There's wet tear tracks on his cheeks, and small hitching sobs in his throat, his limbs still shaking, but Derek's soothing a hand down his back, whispering quiet words into his ear that Stiles can't really understand, but make him feel slightly better anyway.

 

"Was I good?" He whispers finally, throat cracking.

Derek startles a little, stares down at Stiles and tightens his hands. " _What?_ "

 

Stiles swallows and looks down at his hands.

It's never been like this before, he's always wanted it to be good for Derek, but he's never needed it with everything he is, a burning low in his gut that if Derek wasn't happy with him, that he'd beg and plead, like there's guilt for this and that the only way he'll be happy is if Derek's proud of him

"Was I- was I good for you?" He asks again. "Did I make you happy?"

 

Derek doesn't say anything for what feels like hours, and Stiles tenses a little more with each minute, but then he feels Derek sigh, curls his arms around him more and buries his head in his hair.

 

"You did Stiles. You did so good, made me so proud of you." Feels a kiss on his temple. "You always make me so happy Stiles, and even if you wanted to stop doing this, or if you wanted to do more, you'd still make me happy."

 

Stiles looks up at Derek, face splotchy red and lashes sticking together, tries to smile and it's shaky around the edges before he rests his mouth on Derek's jaw and kisses lightly.

 

"Thank you." _I love you_.

 

\---

 

(Later, after they've showered and Stiles is wrapped in one of Derek's t-shirts, head wresting on Derek's arm and fingers curled around his hip, they'll take about it, _really_ talk about it, and Stiles will try to explain, try to explain how he felt, and how he doesn't want it all the time, or even _often_ , but sometimes he'll need it, and Derek will kiss him, firm lips and soothing tongue, and he'll tell Stiles how he'd scared him, that he'd been so worried he'd done something wrong, but now that he knows, they can try it properly,

 

and maybe Stiles will cry a little more, and his wrists will still shake, even after lotion's been rubbed on them, and he'll feel a little frayed at the edges, raw in the middle, and he'll want to be closer to Derek than usual, fingers skittering across his flesh and gripping sweaty and tight and bitten nails at skin, but Derek will grip him just as tight back, and whisper stories into his hair and he'll be okay.)


End file.
